


A Slower Pace

by speedgriffon



Series: My Hovercraft is Full of Eeels | Agent Charmer [5]
Category: Fallout 4
Genre: Ambiguous Relationships, But also a serious adult conversation, F/M, Flirting, Fluff and Humor, Heavy Petting, On the cusp of a relationship, make-out session
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-15
Updated: 2020-01-15
Packaged: 2021-02-27 04:41:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,987
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22261243
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/speedgriffon/pseuds/speedgriffon
Summary: Charmer had kissed him. Kissed him. Full on the mouth, kissed him—and Deacon liked it. He felt stupid, clumsy, dumbstruck—a hormonal teenager all over again—and it was all because of her. It was surprisingly a great feeling. Better than his usual sad-clown mentality. A ray of sunshine, all wrapped up into one sweet kiss.Deacon hardly ever thought he'd end up in this type of conundrum ever again in his lifetime.
Relationships: Deacon/Female Sole Survivor
Series: My Hovercraft is Full of Eeels | Agent Charmer [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1591429
Comments: 10
Kudos: 55





	A Slower Pace

**Author's Note:**

> I was prompted for a not-so-smut scene (“talking about (but not having) sex") for these two and it worked out great. Really great. This is set immediately after Dirty Wastelander Phrasebook, so read that first or some things won't make sense.

Charmer had kissed him.

Kissed him. Full on the mouth, _kissed_ him—and Deacon liked it. No, he _loved_ it. Oh, that was a dangerous word to throw around, sure, but between feeling so damn touch-starved the last several years and his own developing feelings for the woman, it was undeniable. He felt stupid, clumsy, dumbstruck—a hormonal teenager all over again—and it was all because of _her_. It was surprisingly a _great_ feeling. Better than his usual sad-clown mentality. A ray of fucking sunshine, all wrapped up into one sweet _kiss_. 

It was all Deacon could think about on the walk from Mass Bay to Goodneighbor, the two snickering about their victory against the Gunners, counting off their various injuries and playfully bickering over who would have to write the formal report to Desdemona. All while tiptoeing—literally and physically—around the obvious. Their hands would brush, knowing smiles exchanged, but nothing more.

In Goodneighbor, Doctor Amari was less than pleased when she saw two of the Railroad’s finest stumble into her basement clinic of the Memory Den. Despite her flustering, she was more than eager to help the two with their wounds, tending to Charmer first while Deacon loitered nearby. He kept a watchful eye on his partner, smiling to himself when she flashed him a wink.

“Nothing he hasn’t seen before,” she joked when Amari prompted to unbutton her shirt, exposing a few lacerations as well as her bra.

He shrugged. “I like the polka-dotted one better.”

The good doctor only groaned, quickening her pace, ensuring she could shoo the two away as soon as possible. Deacon had made it out of the Gunner’s captivity relatively unscathed, besides the thump to his head that would likely linger into the morning. As soon as the two had the all clear, they were on their way to the Rexford, grabbing their regular key from Clair.

Whatever exciting energy that had been sparking between the two seemed to fizzle out the moment they crossed the threshold of the small, third story room. Deacon didn’t want to acknowledge it, but he certainly felt it, and noticed the way Charmer took a long glance between him and the bed. They had shared cramped spaces before in their travels— _hell_ —they had shared this very room on more than one occasion. But something had certainly shifted in their dynamic.

“I’m going to change,” she remarked, grabbing her pack from his hand. She disappeared into the tiny washroom, giving him the opportunity to shed his own clothes, frowning at the blood and grime collected from their brief imprisonment. At least his underwear was clean.

He shifted through the various disguises in his bag for a clean t-shirt, packing away his trusty wig in the process. He looked at the slightly ajar door separating him from Charmer and thought about cracking some kind of wise joke—for once he refrained. Instead, he crawled onto the far side of the bed, fluffing up one of the pillows beneath his head. Not a moment later, Charmer emerged from the other room, now dressed in a loose shirt and cloth shorts. She kneeled down onto the mattress and paused.

For a fleeting moment, Deacon could have sworn she was going to make another go at him—he wouldn’t have minded—but then all she did was slide swiftly beneath the covers, whispering a soft _goodnight_ as she settled on her side, facing away from him. It was all…very _awkward_. More awkward than he would’ve ever anticipated a situation like this unfolding. But hey—he didn’t think he’d ever end up in this type of conundrum ever again in his lifetime. And that’s how he ended up there, flat on his back in the bed, pondering to himself the day’s events, drowning in his feelings. 

He wondered, briefly, if his inner monologue could be heard when he felt her shift.

“Deacon?”

“Hmm?”

He opened his eyes—not that she could’ve known with his shades—to find her leaning over him, dirty blonde hair tickling his cheeks, lips ghosting across his. He barely had enough time to react as she kissed him— _again_ —leaving him feeling dumbfounded at how easily she’d caught him off guard _twice_. Couldn’t she have let him take the lead at least _once_? Her tongue dancing against his diverted his thoughts rather quickly. Invigorated, he tugged her closer, hissing back a groan when her hips landed against his, instantly causing a delightful friction.

All those emotions from before come flooding back—like a sharp inhale of the purest Jet—and Deacon couldn’t fight the smile that pulled at his lips. Charmer was smiling too as she kissed him, hands framing his face as if to keep him still. It wouldn’t do—he wanted a turn at the proverbial wheel. Ensuring his grip on her was steady, he swapped their positions, swallowing her startled yelp as he pinned her against the mattress. It didn’t take long for her to tug him back into place, one leg hooking around his thigh, both arms draped across his shoulders as their kiss intensified.

He touched her, one hand caressing up and down her side before sneaking up her front, cupping her breast through her shirt. To think, there was a sweeter sound than Charmer’s laughter—her _moans_ —he wanted to hear more of that, by any means necessary. Her own hands were tugging at the hem of his shirt until one disappeared beneath the fabric, sliding across the heated skin of his abdomen and up his chest, circling around to his back. It was a simple thing really—just a touch—but it was electrifying coming from her.

Charmer seemed all too pleased to continue to kiss, to _make-out_ , and as exciting as it was for Deacon, a sharp nagging voice in his head suddenly came ringing through. Shouldn’t they be recovering from their injuries? Wasn’t it just…like supremely awkward in here not only five minutes before? He broke away for a sharp inhale of breath and noticed the tiniest, most hesitant glimmer shining in her eyes. He knew it was probably nerves—hell, he’d be nervous too about making it to second base (if you could even call it that) with somebody after 200 years.

For her own benefit, or maybe for his, he pulled away, resting most of his weight on one arm as he hovered over her. Charmer blinked up at him, obviously confused, panting as she caught her breath. The last thing he wanted was to alarm her. He brushed back the tousled hair from her brow, letting his fingers linger along her temple.

“We can take this slow, you know.”

Her lips curled into a shaky smile. “I know.”

“We don’t have to do anything…tonight,” he assured in a low voice. She skewed her mouth to the side, even more perplexed than before. She didn’t respond right away, her blue eyes dancing across his face.

“Are you saying you don’t want me?” Charmer’s blunt question coupled with a small frown had him shaking his head with a soft laugh.

“I’m not— _Jesus_ , Charmer, I think it’s pretty obvious that _I want you_.”

Her face flushed with color when she realized. “Oh. That’s good.”

He chuckled some more, endeared by her bashfulness. Who would’ve known? “I just—” he stroked the side of her face, wanting it to come out right. “We should talk this through, ya know?”

She took a shaky breath, closing her eyes for a long second before nodding. “Right. Okay.”

Charmer first rolled onto her side to face him, propping her head and tucking her hands beneath her pillow. Deacon followed suit, allowing for a little bit of space between them—they could use some cooling down after that little escapade. Despite the reprieve, she was offering this soft, encouraging smile, allowing him to find the words he wanted to say.

“What I told you about Barbara wasn’t a lie.”

It dawned on Charmer that it was _that_ kind of conversation, her features settling. “I know,” she whispered. “I never doubted that.”

Of course she didn’t.

“I never thought—” he mimicked her smile, sighing. “That there’d be anybody else.”

She nodded, coy expression returning to her face. “Neither did I.”

Deacon reached over and she met him halfway, linking their hands. He knew Charmer had a similar background—a dead spouse, of all things—and he knew only a few traits about the late _Nathaniel James_. But the one thing he did know was that Mr. James was one lucky man. Somehow, that luck had passed to _him_.

“I think that’s enough touchy-feely talk for one evening,” he softly laughed, squeezing her hand.

She hummed in agreement. After a moment, he couldn’t help but notice the small, devious glimmer that flashed though her eyes. “What about…just plain ol’ touchy-feely?”

_Oh, Charmer_. He smirked. “ _Hmm_?”

“From what little I could tell, you seem to be _very_ good at it,” she giggled.

“Little?” Deacon feigned offense, leaning away. “I assure you, nothing about me is _little_.”

She shrugged, thumb brushing down along his wrist. “We didn’t really get that far.”

“You’ll be able to handle me all you want next time. _Feel_ for yourself.” 

“You’re assuming there will be a next time?”

“I see the way you look at me,” he spoke. “I’m _irresistible_.”

“Maybe so,” she teased in return.

“Trust me sugar, when I get you under me again, the whole city is going to hear this mattress squeaking,” he waggled his eyebrows. He thought about the delectable way she had moaned when he had touched her and how it lit his skin aflame. “Amongst _other_ noises.”

“Is that a promise, or a threat?” she asked, the excitement evident in her features.

“Both?”

Charmer seemed delighted by that, but also speechless. Deacon called that a win—and yet, neither of them made a move to continue their earlier _session_ , despite the fact it was practically obvious how much they wanted to. His earlier words floated back into his mind— _slow_ —they didn’t have to rush. And _man_ , was that freeing.

“You know what I’m even better at?” he asked.

She raised a curious eyebrow. “Bragging?”

“Snuggling,” he yanked on her hand, snaking an arm around her waist as he pulled her close to his body. Charmer laughed against his shoulder, but quickly folded into his embrace, hands settling against his chest like she belonged there. “Don’t tell the others.”

She readjusted, tilting her head back on the pillow so she could see his face. After a prolonged moment of silence, she let out a soft chuckle, _booping_ his nose in her own affectionate gesture. “Do you _really_ sleep in your sunglasses?”

“Of course,” he lied. “You never noticed?”

She rolled her eyes, falling silent. Suddenly, Deacon’s heart was racing, but considering the day’s events, their conversation and the very likely direction their relationship was heading, he figured he owed her one _hell_ of a gesture. Charmer watched as he pulled away the frames from his face, reaching over her shoulder to place them on the bedside table. When he glanced to meet her eyes—blue meeting his own for the first time—vulnerable was the last thing he felt.

With one of her hands resting on the side of his face, she leaned closer, guiding him into a softer, gentler kiss. It was so much more different than the first, or the second, but invigorating all the same—if she wanted to kiss him everyday for the rest of his life, he would die a happy man. Charmer kissed him and then she simply stared into his eyes, smiling like the eternal spot of daylight she was. That four-letter word echoed around in his brain again and he knew—he was done for—but he was hardly worried about his fate. 

Charmer— _Madelyn_ —was worth it.

**Author's Note:**

> say hello over on tumblr @ eeveevie  
> kudos and comments are always appreciated :)


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